drinking water makes me wide eyed,
embracing with an empty stare.
no particulars,
just a wholism in a visual rush,
as the wardrobe of impressions in passing.
this movement has elements of stillness in it,
as if to defy the rhythmic passage of time.
drum beats that liquify their beginnings and endings,
as in the subtleties of quench
as if in the internal soundings
of trains approaching and departing.
one very slow encompassing beat per passage.
and I'm drinking water all this time.
stream-drink in,
lake-mouthwatering,
swallow-waterfall,
only hearing oneself in soft gulp passage.
a ritual in the religion of liquid in-takes.
slipstreaming zestful,
without any real cause or effect.
celestial with only liquidity masquerading as parts,
resounding in water passage.
if I could be a stream-bed
would delicious become monotony?
if I were the brink essence of a waterfall
would thirst never be an afterthought?
if I was vapor and only sang in high notes
would that ever become the sound of rain?
I'm a solid-liquid-vapor when I smile.
I know you,
since we are all well acquainted,
meeting yet ritualistically,
once again at drink.
let's just pretend
you're thirsty
and I am refreshing . . .
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